Guard the Guards
by kurgaya
Summary: Ichigo/Tōshirō - Seireitei. 600 years post-Winter War. "The previous captain of the Fifth Division, Sosuke Aizen, is currently imprisoned in Muken. It is my firm belief that he should be removed."
1. Chapter 1

**Notes**: PLEASE READ

This story is basically an accumulation of most of my headcanons. It's set 600 years post-Winter War and will make reference to events that are not canon. (I'd draw up a timeline but it's not that important). OCs are inevitable because even the strongest shinigami have to die one day, but they're not main characters so they shouldn't be a problem.

This fic IGNORES both the Fullbringer and the Thousand Year Blood War arcs (I might include them in a fic one day, but only when they start making sense). However Ichigo's heritage WILL REMAIN CANON, so if you've got no idea what I'm talking about I suggest you either read chapters 528-537 or prepare to be spoiled.

Please enjoy.

* * *

**Guard the Guards**

* * *

When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom.  
_Proverbs 11:2 _

To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.  
_Lewis B. Smedes_

Heroism on command, senseless violence, and all the loathsome nonsense that goes by the name of patriotism - how passionately I hate them!  
_Albert Einstein_

* * *

Time had been kind to Tōshirō Kurosaki (nee Hitsugaya). While his hair would forever remain white, the ghostly loneliness of his skin had warmed over the years, ministrations of love and happiness now frequent in his life. His small body had grown in height, though not by much, but by the point he had noticed he had reached an age where he'd stopped caring about such trivial factors. He had, after all, the means around him to reach what he couldn't. Friends, for instance; a husband, for another. Both were annoying, there was no doubt, but they had their uses from time to time. His wise, teal eyes had only become sager, brighter with age. They had seen many a things that most would shield from, and shield he had, occasionally, from war and death and disaster. Unlike time they hadn't treated him well, but whether due to some unfalsifiable force or by pure luck he had always managed to survive such encounters, the countdown beating in his chest not quite ready to let him go. There is work to be done, it said. And god-forbid you let those morons do it.

Time had not been kind to all, however, and this was a point that Tōshirō brought up in the next weekly meeting with his captains. Being the leader of Soul Society allowed him to change the subject without so much as a by your leave, you see. It was one of the many perks.

"If you're all comfortable," he began, gesturing with his hand around the table. In the years of being a captain under the two late commanders, Genryusai Yamamoto and Byakuya Kuchiki, Tōshirō had grown tired of standing to attention. So, in a move that had been worthy of being noted in the history books, he had implemented for a round table to be introduced into the First Division's meeting hall, large enough to seat every captain. It had come as a shock for most. Those in Tōshirō's generation had thoroughly enjoyed the show of equality.

The twelve men and women around him quietened at his urging, those who had stood to stretch their legs in the short break returning to their seats. Seats weren't assigned at the table to further push forward the motion of fairness, except in two cases. Firstly, Tōshirō, as the Captain-Commander, sat opposite the entrance doors, even if the person mirroring him was too tall to let him see who came in. Secondly, and much to Tōshirō's amusement when he found out the unspoken rule existed with his captain, Ichigo was always to be allowed to sit on his right. Apparently there were no ifs or buts with this. When he had cornered the fiery captain about this, Ichigo had admitted that he hadn't been the one to put it into place, but he hadn't been against the idea and so had done nothing to correct it. Tōshirō hadn't quite known what to say to that, especially when he'd caught the knowing looks from his captain in the next meeting, and so had done nothing to correct their behaviour. (The position to his left, however, was open for anybody to claim).

"Right," he went on, the need to raise his voice non-existent in the room. "Over the past few months I have been considering some of the more prominent matters left to me by my predecessors, and one has come to my attention that nearly every person in this room is already aware of." Including himself, twelve of the thirteen captains seated at the table had been in the Gotei Thirteen since a time before the Winter War some six hundred years ago. That was not to say that they were the same captains that had reigned under Yamamoto's rule; in fact, only he and two others had remained. Most of the other captains in the room were lieutenant or high ranked officers who had been promoted in a time after the Winter War, the exception to this being Ichigo Kurosaki, captain of the Fifth Division, who hadn't been either during the war. The odd face out in the crowd was a slender man named Tomohiro Nekoya. He was the Twelfth Division captain and had risen to the rank just a few years ago, when his captain had been killed. Unlike everybody else in the room, Nekoya had joined the Gotei Thirteen sometime after Aizen's betrayal.

Tōshirō waited for a moment, gazing at each person around him, and then dropped the bomb. "The previous captain of the Fifth Division, Sosuke Aizen, is currently imprisoned in Muken. It is my firm belief that he should be removed."

Unsurprisingly, Nekoya's inquisitive expression was completely ignored as at least four people exploded in outrage. Tōshirō felt slightly bad for him, since this was an incredibly personal subject for the majority of the room and he, no doubt, didn't have quite a strong enough opinion to be heard. On the other hand, Soifon was certainly making herself known, so Tōshirō addressed her first, quelling the storm brewing in the room with a flicker of his reiatsu.

He had to give his captains credit though – most of them had pulled disgruntled expressions but were clearly waiting for him to elaborate. Even Ichigo, at his right and looking more startled than anybody, was yet to open his mouth. Tōshirō laid a hand gently on top of his, an apology and a grasp for support. Ichigo's hard gaze locked with his husband's, but he still twined their fingers together in response.

Time had done well in subduing their raging youth.

"_How_," Soifon spat once Tōshirō had turned to her. She had risen out of her seat and thrown herself as forward as she could against the table; Tōshirō was suddenly quite glad coincidence had placed her on the opposite side of the room. "Can you even be thinking of doing _anything_ with Aizen? Leave him where he is – it's been six hundred years, he's probably gotten used to it by now!"

Before Tōshirō could defend himself however, one of the other captains cut into the conversation, voice smooth and tone calm.

"To word that slightly better," said Yumichika, barely batting an eyelash at Soifon's nasty glare. The Second and Third Division captains had never gotten on. "What prompted you to bring up such a subject? Aizen's sentence is twenty thousand years – hardly a fraction of it has passed."

"That's exactly why I'm bringing it to your attention," said Tōshirō. "Aizen betrayed _us_. He is _our_ problem, and thus it is _our_ responsibility to solve it. And we _have_ a problem, one which I need your input in to deal with."

"That problem being," clarified Nanao, eyes narrowed behind her glasses. She had been the Eighth Division captain ever since Kyoraku had passed away, and while she was nowhere near as powerful as him, even with a bankai, she was a brilliant strategist. Both Tōshirō and his predecessor had felt removing her from her position would result in a substantial loss. "That you don't want him to reside in Muken anymore?"

"Precisely."

"Why?" barked Komamura, and Tōshirō almost flinched at the sound. Of all the people in the room, he'd known that the resilient Seventh Division captain would take this the worst. "Why can't he stay?"

A few of the other captain, those that Tōshirō were friendlier with, were starting to look a little worried. Renji's knuckles were turning white, and Rangiku's reiatsu was fluttering; not in annoyance towards him, Tōshirō knew, but fear that the conversation might turn violent. He had faith, however, that such a point would never be reached. But if it did, he rationalised, then the Fourth Division captain was present, and there was an extremely protective husband sitting next to him. He had no reason to be concerned.

"Because it's an easy way out," said Tōshirō, resisting the urge to cross his arms and tap his foot. "It's not the best solution. Twenty thousand years is a long time from now, yes; nobody seated here today will see it, but that is when Aizen will be released. Soul Society has faced worse than him, of course it has, we've lived through it, and it will again, in the future, but I am concerned about what will happen once we let Aizen go."

Nobody looked convinced.

"He'll be insane," said Shuuhei, frowning. "Won't he?"

"Any normal person would be," growled Komamura, bearing his teeth. "Muken is an endless abyss of no light, no sound, and no movement. There is nothing down there."

Renji coughed once. "Except Aizen, you mean," he countered lightly. He glanced over at Tōshirō, regarded him carefully, and then turned back to the Seventh Division captain. "Aizen and his thoughts. I don't know about you, but I think Tōshirō's scary when his mind wanders for too long – no offence mate – so I can't even begin to imagine what Aizen would be like after twenty thousand years. Do you want to leave a genius alone with his head for that long?"

Tōshirō relaxed slightly in his chair, shooting the Sixth Division captain a grateful glance. He was glad that somebody had understood what he'd been trying to get at. He had discovered Byakuya's concerns about locking Aizen away just a few days into becoming the Captain-Commander, but Seireitei had been in a time of mourning and Tōshirō had placed them aside to return to. Once he had found the time to read the documents, Tōshirō had effectively shut himself in his office for two days and paced. Ichigo had eventually knocked the door down to get to him and dragged him home for a proper meal and more than a few hours' sleep.

And despite his husband's anxieties, Tōshirō had kept quiet about the situation. He didn't doubt that Ichigo would ask him why after the meeting, but in all honesty, Tōshirō didn't really have an excuse. He'd been frightened, and hadn't wanted to share the burden. Ichigo would call that 'bullshit' but they'd probably cuddle on the sofa for the rest of the day.

"There is no guarantee on Aizen's mental health when he is released," said Isane. She paused thoughtfully, and Tōshirō let her think. "But I can see what I can dig up on individuals that spent time in Muken in the past – I can't imagine there would be many, though."

Tōshirō nodded, giving her permission. He'd already started looking into the database for information, but she was the Fourth Division captain so there would be some things that she could access that he, even as the Captain-Commander, couldn't get a hold of. He made a note to send her what he'd found later that day.

"So what sort of solution are you thinking of?" asked Soifon, speaking up for the first time since her outburst. She appeared calmer now, but Tōshirō hardly took her emotions on face value.

He sighed quietly. Ichigo's thumb started rubbing a circle into the back of his hand. "I'm not sure," he admitted, knowing that his officers wouldn't judge him for the show of weakness. "If we were to retrieve Aizen from Muken right now, there is the possibility that he is sane, and thus, a danger. Or perhaps he has repented? Would we believe him? Is our judgement of him clouded by our past experiences? He may also be psychologically harmed, and that will pose the question of whether or not he is a threat. If he isn't, then what do we do? Let him re-join society? And if he is a threat, what would be an ethical course of action? Would it make us monsters to punish him when he isn't in the right mind to speak up for himself? Yes, it probably would. We could, of course, as suggested, leave him in Muken for twenty thousand years for somebody else to deal with. Whoever is around when he is released would've never met him, so perhaps their decision would be less biased. But they also might be less informed – we _know _Aizen. We know how he thinks, how he behaves. That is our biggest advantage, but it is also our biggest downfall."

He ran his gaze over every individual in the room, gauging their expressions. There were contemplating frowns abound, and Tōshirō couldn't help but quirk a small smile: he had chosen his captains well, it seemed. They wouldn't let him down.

"_That_ is our dilemma. Immediate action doesn't have to be taken straight away – we have time to think about this. We mustn't make the wrong choice."

Again there was no response. Satisfied, Tōshirō nodded to himself.

"Meeting concluded."

They filtered out immediately, no doubt to go and ponder. Every lieutenant in Seireitei would know about the situation in ten minutes, something which Tōshirō had been counting on. He would have to find his own lieutenant, Zack Sakamoto, eventually: he normally relied on Zack's wife to pass information along, but since Nina was the lieutenant of the only other man still seated at the table, Tōshirō knew that wasn't an option.

"I love you," said Ichigo, once they were alone. His tanned features were strained, his chocolate eyes burning with the need to understand, and so Tōshirō leaned across the small gap between their chairs and kissed him on the jaw. Ichigo wasn't as brash as he'd once been, but managing to sit through even half a meeting on such a delicate topic was unusual behaviour. He looked somewhat unsettled, but relaxed against his husband.

"I love you too," replied the teal eyed man sadly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this beforehand. I know… you tell me everything. I wish I could respond with the same courtesy. I –"

Ichigo's sudden smile put an end to that train of thought. "It's alright," he said. "I'd never ask to be privy to all of your thoughts – I know how much you value them. Mine aren't quite on par with yours, so I don't mind sharing them. I'm not a genius like you."

"Like Aizen," Tōshirō muttered. He dropped his gaze, dropped his shoulders, and dropped the composed mask from his face. Ichigo, however, was there to tilt his chin back up, give him a warm kiss, and encourage him to his feet.

"Come on," said the ginger, guiding his husband through the hall. "Let's go and have a cup of tea."

Their lieutenants were waiting for them outside the First Division's office. Zack and Nina had been married for just a little bit longer than Ichigo and Tōshirō, so there had always been a strange, _knowing_ bond between the two couples. As such, neither Sakamoto made any comment about how their superiors were walking as if glued together, though Tōshirō knew that both lieutenants had no problem with letting their mouth run.

"Is there anything we can do, sir, to help?" Zack asked once they were all settled inside the office. Ichigo and Tōshirō had claimed one of the sofas, but while offered the other, both Sakamotos had chosen to stand.

"Go about your duties as normal," said Tōshirō. He didn't ask who they had heard a report of the meeting from so quickly. "But if you have the time, just think. Any input will be appreciated."

At the red haired woman's questioning glance, Ichigo waved a hand dismissively. The younger couple bowed and decided to leave. Having been the Fifth Division lieutenant for a few hundred years, Nina had learned to gauge her captain's reaction well. Zack couldn't yet perceive Tōshirō's moods in quite the same way, but he'd follow his wife through Hell and back if he had to. They were quite a pair.

"I'll make some tea then," said Ichigo, wandering over to where Tōshirō kept his tea set. Unfortunately it wasn't the best tea set, a simple dark green pot with three cups (one having smashed some years prior), but it did its job. Renji and Rukia had given them an absolutely stunning set as a wedding gift that Tōshirō had insisted was too valuable to keep in the office, so it stayed at home in their kitchen where it was used almost every night. That pot, unlike the one Ichigo was holding, had a smooth, black glaze and a twisted bamboo handle, and etched into the pot and each cup was a different word: 'love', 'knowledge', 'prosperity', 'happiness', and Ichigo's favourite, 'sex', which they were sure had been included as a joke. As per tradition the cups didn't have any handles, but were thick enough that Tōshirō's hands didn't burn when he sat and read before going to sleep.

But since they were in the office, Ichigo handed him one of the cheaper cups and then regained his seat on the sofa.

"Thank you," said Tōshirō, blowing softy into his drink. It smelt like vanilla and he smiled. Ichigo always knew exactly what type of tea he wanted, whether that be mint for when he was sick, white for working late, green for everyday consumption, or vanilla for comfort. If Tōshirō poured himself the latter then he was feeling blue, but if Ichigo got it for him then there was reason to be concerned: 'I love you Tōshirō', it meant, 'but you're really scaring me and I don't know what to do'. Tōshirō had worked this out on their honeymoon – they'd had a truly wonderful marriage ceremony, and the exotic hotel they'd booked into was worthy of its stars. Their suite had been fitted with a kitchen, and it was there that the Tenth Division captain (as he had been at the time) had found a steaming cup of the flavoured tea and a neon yellow post-it note when he'd finished with his shower.

In a perfect show of Ichigo's exploratory elegance, the message had consisted of a question mark and an unhappy face, the radical spiked hair of which making Tōshirō assume it was meant to be him. He'd honestly not known whether to be extremely concerned or deeply entertained at the artistic attempt, and so had walked over to where his husband had retreated to and stuck a new note underneath his messy orange fringe. That one had had a happy face on it, but Ichigo had been too thoroughly snogged to find the time to look.

"Do you think I'm doing the wrong thing?" Tōshirō asked, feeling safe enough to voice such thoughts now that only Ichigo would hear. He frowned down at his hands, curling his feet together on the floor. Being the Captain-Commander wasn't much different from being an average captain on some respects; feeling the weight of a whole society on your shoulders wasn't one of them.

"I don't think that's really a question that can be answered with a 'yes' or a 'no'," hummed the other, trying to smile encouragingly. "Like you said, there're too many variables."

The Captain-Commander nodded minutely. "What if I wanted your opinion?"

Ichigo grinned and slid closer; Tōshirō raised his arms and allowed his other half to settle across his legs, feet propped up at the opposite end of the sofa. "Rest your cup on my face and I'll tickle you to death," Ichigo warned lightly, sticking out his tongue at the responding eye roll. "And you know what my opinion's going to be – I want you to be careful. I know you'll think things through logically and come to an informed decision, but this _is_ Aizen and I don't want you to do anything rash." He reached up and brushed his fingers against his husband's wrist, the closest display of bare skin to where he laid. "He's not the scariest or the most dangerous foe we've ever faced, but he took your sister away from you and I know how much that still hurts. I've already said that I won't ask to get inside your head, but please, don't forget that I'm here: I'll support you through anything but you just have to let me know."

Tōshirō smiled back at him. The tea in his hands was comforting, but it was Ichigo's serene words that soothed his uneasy mind. The Fifth Division captain was a fire, crisp and bright, uncontrollable and spontaneous. He was the heart of the battle and the glow in the distance, forever burning like a beacon on the rocky shore. He was a wildfire raging across the plains, only stopping when he'd met his match. You fight fire with fire and the flames danced around Tōshirō. He was safe, warmed by the heat instead of scorched: brightened by the light instead of blinded.

"Thank you," he said.

"Don't mention it," replied Ichigo casually. "Now finish your tea, we've got stuff to do."

Stress fading into his amusement, Tōshirō quirked an eyebrow. "And here I thought you were avoiding your paperwork?"

"Oh I am," the other said charmingly. He reached around and started to caress the edge of his husband's black kosode, rubbing it between his fingers and then slipping his hand underneath the hem. "That wasn't quite what I had in mind."

Tōshirō let his husband retrace the steps of their last passionate embrace for a few moments, sipping his tea silently. He could feel himself becoming enamoured with the gentle touches and wanted nothing more than to sink back into the sofa and appreciate them, but it was neither the time nor place for such attention. When the cup was almost empty and Ichigo's hand was in the midst of drawing pointless little circles, the Captain-Commander gave a sigh. "We're in my office."

Ichigo laughed. "As if that's stopped us before," he said, but he attentively withdrew at the sharp dismissal. "I could give you a blowjob?" he added cheerfully, grinning up at Tōshirō brazenly.

"What part of _we're in my office_ do you not understand?" the other retorted casually, placing his teacup down on the little table beside him. "There's work to do." He jerked his leg to get his spouse to move.

Ichigo stuck out his tongue, crossing his arms playfully. "You're stressed. I can help."

"You can also drive me up the wall apparently."

"I'm not _that_ bad."

Tōshirō rolled his eyes, barely containing his smile. "Oh honestly, I'm sure there are better things you could be doing –"

"Better than giving you a blowjob? Not likely," stated Ichigo, and the inflexibility of his conviction made Tōshirō blush softly. Pleasantly startled, he almost didn't hear the knocking at the door over Ichigo's satisfied laughter, but his experience-honed skills at listening out for someone's insistence that they needed his help eventually kicked in.

"Come in," he called, shifting his legs again. "Move," he added to his husband.

The door on their left slid open to reveal one of the lower seated officers of the First. Ichigo chortled evilly. "I'm quite comfy down here actually."

Shooting him an unimpressed glare, Tōshirō resigned himself to looking the part of a married couple and turned to his officer. The seventh seat bowed, hardly batting an eyelash at their cosiness on the sofa, a reaction that had slowly developed over the years. While Tōshirō would rather remain professional while in the office, Ichigo had no such qualms at being affectionate when they weren't at home. Since there were times where they had to compromise, both Ichigo and Tōshirō's divisions had grown accustomed to walking in on them in the act of hugging or kissing, though never anything more. (That wasn't to say they hadn't been more adventurous – they'd just thoroughly warded the door).

"My report, sir," said the officer, indicating to the black folder in his hands. The First Division chrysanthemum was printed on one corner to signify the ownership of the documents. "There were no fatalities but twelfth seat Kiba and tenth seat Yamato are both currently receiving treatment in the Fourth Division."

Isane had sent him a Hell Butterfly informing him of such some hours ago, but Tōshirō didn't mention this. He waved his seventh seat over. "I'll read through this in a moment. Could you go and check on the new recruits for me? There should already be two officers in charge of their transfer so only report back to me if something is amiss."

"Yes sir."

He handed over the folder and left.

Tōshirō waited for a second before sighing. "Let me up now Ichigo, we have time for this later."

"No we don't," said Ichigo, dropping a kiss to Tōshirō's cheek as he clambered across the sofa. "Family dinner – remember?"

"Bollocks. Is that tonight?"

It wasn't that Tōshirō didn't enjoy the monthly dinners – no, he very much loved the rate at which his family was growing. The company was always wonderful (though it had taken a while for him to get used to it) and the Shiba household cooks consistency outdid themselves. Isshin spun tales of his latest mishaps over the meal, Kukaku, Ganju, and Ichigo butted heads, Yuzu always had something heart-warming to tell them, and the quieter people at the table (that is, Tōshirō, Karin, and Yuzu's husband) watched on in amusement and exchanged bets on who would be the first person to break something. It was guaranteed to be a fantastic evening – a late night for all of them but worth it: Tōshirō'd just completely forgotten about it.

"Uh-huh," Ichigo smiled, clearing up. "Kukaku'll ring our necks if we miss it."

"I wasn't suggesting that we don't attend," Tōshirō defended, frowning. He gathered up his work and wandered over to his desk – it looked bleak and uninviting and he sighed. "Don't put words into my mouth."

His husband giggled.

"I stand corrected," the Captain-Commander went on dryly. "You haven't grown up in the slightest."

"Love you Tōshirō," Ichigo called across the room in reply.

Teal eyes flickered upwards, and Tōshirō saw the other captain standing on the wooden bannister that held up the roof of the balcony. The balcony stretched from one end of the room to the other, the folding doors that usually kept it from sight tucked away to reveal the view of Seireitei beneath them, remarkable and completely theirs. Tōshirō sometimes spent hours purely watching shinigami weave in and out of the streets, trying to pick out people he knew just from the tops of their heads.

"Love you too," he replied fondly. "Use the door."

"Where's the fun in that?" laughed Ichigo, teetering forward. "I'll be back at six if you don't come home before then."

Tōshirō waved him goodbye and the ginger captain jumped, disappearing into the bustle of life below.

* * *

"Took you long enough! We were beginning to think you wouldn't show! I was about to send Ganju out to knock some sense into you!"

Kukaku eyed them critically from the doorway. Tōshirō tried to hide his blush but Ichigo had no such luck, rubbing the back of his head as he always did when nervous. His sunny hair looked slightly more unkempt than it had that morning. They were only slightly later than usual (dinner wouldn't be served just yet), but the reason was probably blatantly obvious from their behaviour: Tōshirō _might_ have just taken Ichigo up on his offer ten minutes before they were set to leave. Their enthusiasm had resulted in them being delayed for about half an hour longer than planned.

"Well," the boisterous Shiba went on, nodding to herself with a shrewd expression. "I hope he made it worth it Tōshirō."

Ichigo's resounding "Hey!" attracted the attention of the people further into the house. That wasn't to say, however, that anybody got up to greet them; shouting was a Shiba trait they were all commendably good at. Various calls echoed back at the two captains, encouraging them inside (Isshin) or demanding they get moving (Karin), so Kukaku relented and stepped back to let them in.

The five people around the low table all looked up when they entered: Yuzu was on her feet in a moment, leaping forward to kiss her brother on the cheek and then doing the same for Tōshirō. Of both the sisters, Yuzu was the one Tōshirō saw least of – she was a lower seated officer in the Fourth Division and thus didn't attend either the captain or lieutenant meetings. Karin, however, was the Ninth Division lieutenant under Shuuhei, so encounters with her around Seireitei or on missions was much more likely. Optimistically, Yuzu held the belief that not seeing her was a good thing – a trip to the Fourth never ended well.

Isshin wasn't a captain anymore and thus spent his day doing whatever he wanted. He only entered Seireitei to visit family or friends, and for the most part hung around the Shiba compound or explored the Human World. It was a simpler, freer life, and he quite enjoyed it. Having a family to return home to, however, was what made it worthwhile in his eyes.

As for the other people in the room, Kukaku and Ganju hadn't really changed. They'd both probably grown more violent, but that came with having more family to protect (or so they said). Kukaku still terrorised everybody and beat up her brother one armed, and Ganju still ate lots and set off too many fireworks. They were an unchanging, unstoppable force in the outskirts of Rukongai, and it'd been appreciated by many over the years. The last member of the room was Yuzu's husband, a light-eyed mousey kind of man who didn't appear to be much at first glance. Yet he was one of the strongest teachers in the Shino Academy, a position that he was proud to hold. He was a pleasant man to talk to – soft around the edges but full of fire, and Yuzu adored him. They'd been married very happily for going on one hundred years, and Tōshirō doubted that would ever change.

Since Ichigo was currently being pulled into a head-lock by his father, Tōshirō went and settled beside Karin. She nodded a greeting, her gaze seemingly calculating him for a second, but then smiled when one of the servants came and added two extra glasses of water to the table. "How's the new recruits then?" she asked. "Captain's been running around all day after them, but I'm sure you fared better?"

The meaningful look in her eye let Tōshirō relax his shoulders to some degree: she wasn't going to be bringing up Aizen at any point during the evening. He had a feeling everybody in the room held some knowledge of the meeting that had occurred earlier, but it hadn't been something he'd wanted to discuss at the table.

"My officers did most of the work," he admitted, knowing that, as the Captain-Commander, he could bluff his way through the induction under the pretence of having too much to do. "But I went and checked them out at the end."

"I'm assuming that means you hid in the shadows and waited for someone to notice you?" asked Karin with a smirk.

"Only if he wanted to be noticed," corrected Ichigo, coming to sit on Tōshirō's other side. He'd gotten away from his father unscathed and quicker than usual – the white haired male glanced sidelong at the bearded Kurosaki to see how damaged he was. "It's fun scaring them."

"_I_ don't do that," Tōshirō added firmly, missing the doubtful eye roll from Karin.

"Intentionally," Ichigo challenged, his voice rising enough so that the rest of the room could hear the conversation. "If you're standing in the corner and someone comes to stand in front of you and _then_ they notice you, that's when you're scary."

"To be honest, even Yuzu would be scary," Isshin added with a laugh from across the table.

"Nah, she's too cute," said Kukaku, winking at the blushing brunette. "I don't think I've ever heard you raise your voice."

"You've obviously never destroyed her kitchen," grumbled Yuzu's husband, an expression of pure horror settling onto his freckled face. "I have never been so terrified. It was like waking a dragon from its thousand-year slumber and stealing all its gold right in front of its eyes."

They continued to laugh and joke long after dinner was eventually served. Conversation was never strained between them – as Shibas they always had something to talk about. It was with great surprise that people came to realise that while being able to blab their way through most situations, the Noble Family were also particularly worthy listeners. Kukaku and Yuzu were prime examples of this, nodding along behind chopsticks and glasses – not inattentively, but with a shine to their eyes and a quirk to their lips that revealed they were taking note of what was being said. Tōshirō knew that Ichigo could pull of the tranquil state, but having such a headstrong personality compelled him to comment and criticise instead: to express his attentiveness in a different way. Taking after Isshin in this respect, the voices that led the conversation into the evening were the bolder, more fluent ones. That wasn't to say, however, that the others didn't chip in occasionally (though Kukaku opening a bottle of sake might have had a hand in that). Ganju prompted the retelling of the most embarrassing kitchen disasters they could think up, Karin and Yuzu's husband fell into a discussion about the new recruits in the Gotei Thirteen, and Isshin blabbered rather spectacularly over baby stories. They'd heard them all before, but that didn't make them any less entertaining. Tōshirō particularly enjoyed the one about Ichigo's first encounter with a cat.

The most significant exchange of the evening was stimulated by Yuzu, who lowered her mug of hot chocolate and looked over towards her husband. He grinned beside her, the intensity of his smile perhaps due to the alcohol that most of the household had consumed that evening, and kissed her on the forehead.

"So fucking adorable," Ichigo mumbled into his spouse's hair, the half dozen cups of sake he'd drunk having gone straight to his head. Tōshirō was content to let Ichigo use him as a human pillow – since he didn't drink often and discouraged Ichigo from doing the same; he only felt it fair to let his ginger husband indulge in his affectionate intoxicated haze.

"I hope you mean me," he replied quietly, enticing a chuckle that almost drowned out Yuzu's soft comment:

"We have good news," she said cheerfully.

This instigated a round of trying to guess what the news was, but when none of them seemed to come even close to what she was anticipating to say, the youngest Shiba decided to relieve them all and squealed,

"I'm pregnant!"

Across the room Isshin's face scrunched up, as if the idea that his little-baby-daughter was having enough sex to create a child had never occurred to him. Yuzu was instantly swamped (carefully) by her brother, and amidst the shocked cries Karin swatted Isshin on the arm and told him to 'smile you idiot!' But the action was lost to the sudden crowd in the room, the majority far more focused on congratulating the beaming couple. Ichigo looked like he didn't quite know what to do with his sister; Yuzu was alternating between blushing and assuring him that they were going to take every necessary precaution. Her captain knew, she insisted, obviously, and she was going to get leave and she wouldn't be sent on dangerous missions.

"I'll be fine," she said. She laid a hand on his stomach. "We'll be fine," she corrected brightly. At that, her husband swooped down and snogged her – Ganju laughed so hard at Ichigo's scandalised expression that he almost knocked over the table. Tōshirō patted his spouse on the arm empathetically, but he was smiling at the warm glow Yuzu seemed to emit. He tried to imagine what she would be like heavily pregnant – round and cautious and having just swallowed the sun – but a choked sound and a laughed 'oh god dad, don't cry' distracted him.

Tōshirō would vividly remember the next events for the rest of his life.

He felt Ichigo stiffened beside him, instincts having kicked in about the approaching danger, just as the laughter turned to shouting and the wetness of Isshin's eyes spilled, his happy expression twisting and his smile drowning in a throbbing, tight pain. The elder Kurosaki stumbled to his knees; a glass clipped the table and a pair of chopstick was lost under the flurry of terrified feet. The room seemed to be silent for one infinite moment, and then Isshin shuddered and gasped and Ichigo's voice rose above the void:

"Karin, go and get Captain Kotetsu now!"

She disappeared so fast the door hammered like a gunshot. Ichigo and Kukaku were kneeling next to where Isshin had fallen, the former gently supporting his father, the latter saying something to Ganju that was lost to Tōshirō. Yuzu looked manic – her husband was trying to sooth her but she was shouting, telling him to let her help, and Tōshirō would later feel ashamed at the second it took to recollect that she was a medic. Hardly sparing a thought for the over-protective teacher, he ripped the couple apart and guided Yuzu across the room. Kukaku shuffled back to give her room. Isshin stopped breathing completely.

The sound Ichigo made was excruciating. Tōshirō could count the number of times he'd heard such a harrowing noise escape from his husband's lips on one hand: sorrowfully, as he hovered around uselessly, he added another finger to the tally.

He remembered a time when he had to perform CPR. He'd probably looked much like how Ichigo looked now – hysterically worried and somewhat crazed. Of course, at the time it hadn't been a family member under his hands so Tōshirō couldn't completely relate, but it had been the next best thing. He hadn't known if what he was doing was right, or if it was even going to be of any use (Ukitake had just _not breathed_), but the late-Thirteenth Division captain had lived so Tōshirō must have done something beneficial. Being frightened was all he could really recount from the incident – he couldn't even remember what they'd been doing before – and Tōshirō knew that was all Ichigo was going to take from this. Karin would remember the wind against her body as she rushed to the Fourth; Yuzu, her shaking hands and then the smile on her face when she realised it was the same day she'd announced her pregnancy; and the Shibas, the mess their house had been in and how they'd avoided the room for weeks.

Tōshirō would remember what he could, but he'd file his memories away and try to forget.

Karin, Isane, and Hanatarō appeared. Isshin was whisked away in a blur of black and white and tears and panic. One of the servants started clearing up the broken glass and Karin kicked the table, the teapot spilling all over the floorboards. Kukaku guided a quiet Yuzu out of the room, shooting the husband a look encouraging him to follow. A random Fourth Division officer appeared then, carefully treading around the room towards Ichigo. Recognising the move as a tremendously bad one, Tōshirō diverted the hesitant medic away from where his husband was sitting lifeless by the table, staring at the spot where his father had just been struggling.

"Captain needs –" bumbled the officer.

Tōshirō pressed his hand a little harder into the man's shoulder blades, halting him. "Yes I know the protocol," he said impatiently, wincing at his tone. "Give us a moment and we'll be right with you."

The Fourth Division member nodded hesitantly, unsure of whose orders he should go against. His loyalty to Isane seemed to pay out in the end, however, for he stayed put as Tōshirō went back over to Ichigo, determinedly waiting for the Captain-Commander. Tōshirō would have allowed himself a smile if his spouse hadn't still been on his knees.

"Ichigo," he said gently, laying an encouraging hand on the ginger's shoulder. A quick glance around the room informed him that Karin and Ganju had both disappeared. "We need to go to the Fourth to check on your father."

He didn't say _you're the next of kin and there's a lot to sort out_, but Ichigo leaned into his touch anyway, recognising what was left unspoken. Their first priority was, of course, to gather more information about Isshin's condition and offer their support, but medical documents needed to be found and examined, people had to be informed, and if Isshin's stay was going to be a long one (or not, given the circumstances), there were legal procedures that they were obligated to go through. Bills. Funeral plans. The reading of a will (if there was one).

It was more than just the sterile smell of death that Tōshirō hated about the Fourth Division.

Orihime was waiting for them when they arrived. She was playing with a strand of her luscious auburn hair; idly instead of anxiously, and the temperature of the room raised a fraction as Tōshirō let out a sigh. The smile Orihime greeted them with was small yet genuine – as the division's third seat she often had to deliver news on the patient, so predicting Isshin's condition was an easy task.

"Captain Kotetsu isn't worried," she began lightly, welcoming them professionally with a slight nod. Tōshirō wouldn't say that he and Orihime were great friends – they could trust and rely on one another, but he didn't think she'd ever love anybody in the same way she loved Ichigo. Perhaps because of this, the bond between her and Ichigo was still strong, even if it always had been and always would be strictly friendship. Tōshirō found that he felt out of place when the three of them were conversing, however, despite firm assures from both his husband and the healer that such an emotion was irrational. He was unable to shake the feeling, but he tried not to let it show. The only time this hadn't gone to plan was on his wedding day (of all times). It hadn't taken Ichigo long to realise that his new husband was being strangely devoted to indulging in his every whim. Since they were both aware that Tōshirō wasn't a jealous person by nature, Ichigo had cornered him with a smile and teasingly asked if he was 'having post-wedding blues already.' Somewhat tipsy and the swaying of their dance not particularly remedying that, Tōshirō had admitted that he'd felt like he'd been intruding when Orihime had wished them a happy marriage. From there his immature, irrational, _petty_ worry (fear) of there being somebody _better_ at dancing with Ichigo had tumbled out, though he didn't mean dancing and they both knew that, and there wasn't anybody better but only one of them seemed to know that.

Ichigo had promptly taken him home and _loved him_. Unfortunately this hadn't solved the problem in the long-term, but it had certainly placed the sweetest cherry imaginable onto their wedding cake.

"Myocardial infarction," Orihime went on as she led them through the division. "Luckily it wasn't in any of the coronary arteries so it wasn't as serious as it might have been, but he did go into cardiac arrest so we're going to monitor him carefully. Captain Kotetsu and Hanatarō are treating him right now, but he should be alright."

Ichigo nodded slowly. Tōshirō knew he didn't need to be told about what had happened to his father – he'd been the one to administer CPR after all. Orihime smiled reassuringly, gave them each a swift hug, and then apologised for having to disappear so soon. Ichigo waved her off, thanking her, and then sank down into one of the chairs in the waiting room.

"Fucking heart attack," he hissed, pressing his face into his hands. "What am I going to tell the girls?"

Tōshirō tucked his kimono underneath him as he sat down. Ichigo reached for him instantly, intertwining their fingers. Feeling that a kiss might be inappropriate, the Captain-Commander released a soft pulse of healing kido, trying to calm his other half down.

"You'll tell them exactly that," said Tōshirō. "Heaven knows you Kurosakis hate being left in the dark." He tutted lightly, trying to encourage a smile. It worked to some degree, Ichigo's drowned features gaining some colour, but it wasn't enough to satisfy him.

"You're a Kurosaki too," Ichigo reminded. "You can't lump us into two separate piles."

Rolling his eyes comically, Tōshirō said, "As if you'd let me forget. Would correcting myself to 'biological Kurosakis' please you?"

Ichigo wrinkled his nose, but he looked brighter now. There was still a steady beat of kido beating between them, but Tōshirō spared no mind – he had plenty of reiryoku to use. "That makes us sound like something out of the Twelfth," grumbled the Fifth Division captain.

He meant Kurotsuchi's division, not Nekoya's. Though only having been in power for under a decade, Nekoya had implemented some drastic changes in the way the scientific division was run. No more were shinigami frightened of their equipment, methods, and intentions. Nekoya worked closely with the Fourth in the field of medical research, tested durability and practicality of weapons with the Second, and spent long hours in the library with the Eighth and Tenth. Being a scientist was something to aspire to nowadays, especially since the risk of being unwittingly used in an experiment was a concern of the past. It was still one of the tougher divisions to get accepted into, but Nekoya only wanted the best to help him achieve his goals.

"With the catastrophe running through your blood, I wouldn't be surprised," said Tōshirō flatly.

Ichigo actually laughed at that, sharply, as if startled that his spouse had the audacity to express such thoughts. "That was a low blow."

It was, Tōshirō couldn't deny, but that didn't make it any less true. Ichigo had often been asked 'what are you' instead of 'who are you,' and while the words were painful to hear, nobody could claim that they didn't hold merit. During a time in which Tōshirō hadn't understood the culture of Ichigo's human life, the then-still-living-man had once compared himself to a box of 'Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans': unassuming at first glance, but full of unwanted surprises. It was only later that the ice wielder had truly considered the analogy to be an accurate one.

"Captain Kurosaki?"

They both looked up. It was Hanatarō Yamada, smiling kindly in his usual flustered way. Becoming the Fourth Division lieutenant had boosted his confidence and social skills immensely, but the gentle nervousness was deep-set in his nature. He stood straighter now, though, his shoulders lifted in competency. There were few shinigami that rivalled his skill in the healing arts.

"Kurosaki-san is resting now," continued the medic. "If you'd follow me, I'll take you to him."

He gave them a quick briefing about Isshin's condition as they walked. Ichigo was restless again, agitated in his need to see his father, so Tōshirō held the other side of the conversation for both of them. Later Tōshirō would return for a full break down of what had happened and was predicted to happen, but at that moment the soft-spoken reassurance was enough. Isshin was alive and would likely remain so for another few decades at the very least. He would be able to exit the Fourth as buoyant and hyperactive as ever, hug his family for the panic he caused them, support his daughter through her pregnancy, and see the birth of his first grandchild.

The Captain-Commander vowed silently to go and check on Yuzu before returning home. She would probably turn up at the Fourth at some point, dragging along both her sister and husband and insisting that she really was fine, but Tōshirō wanted to assure himself that she was healthy either way.

Ichigo wasn't the only one fiercely protective over his sisters after all.

* * *

**End Notes**: Tentatively posting this. I'm not sure how far this story's gonna go - I have a plan but it's only 7 lines. If I get bored and take this fic down, please don't kill me. But I don't think that will happen. I have a good feeling about this.

There will probably be 4-5 chapters at most, but I guess we'll see?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes**: Whose stupid idea was it to stop using 'taicho' and 'fukutaicho' half way through a fic and putting 'captain' and 'lieutenant' instead? Oh yeah. Mine.

Please note that I know nothing about American military ranks and my medical knowledge is extremely basic.

* * *

The first thing Tōshirō did upon stepping into the house was run a bath. He turned the taps to the exact degree that would produce the perfect temperature and then slipped back into their bedroom to change. His fears and tension seemed to drop with his kimono; it all crumpled to the floor in a heap and he left it there, reluctant to address his stressors just yet. Instead he padded back into the en-suite under the influence of the beckoning steam, leaving the door open a crack in invitation. His husband was pottering around downstairs but would no doubt make an appearance.

Isshin would be alright, but while Tōshirō's mind knew that, his body needed the reassurance. The water supported him tenderly, warming up his skin; he let it rise to his chin as if it were a duvet and he was tugging it around his shoulders to cocoon him during a cold January night. It held him like a lover; gently teased his arms and sides with smooth, wet fingertips. Tōshirō closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift into the quiet hum in his ear: the bubbles of the fruity body wash were singing tunes of well-being, and Ichigo, knelt now by the bathtub, was whispering to the melody.

Raising a hand instead of his heavy eyelids in greeting, Tōshirō smiled when a kiss was pressed into his soapy palm. "Can I join you?" Ichigo murmured. The bath water rippled into waves as Tōshirō stirred, each pulse lapping against the side of the tub to entice the orange-haired man to slide in.

"Feel free."

They'd splashed out when decorating the bathroom and bought a bath large enough to fit them both – it had perfectly rounded edges and looked like a white, elongated soup bowl. Ichigo had wanted one with stubby, archaic legs (Tōshirō was sure there was a joke in there somewhere), but they'd ultimately forgone that idea to buy a walk-in shower instead. They might both be captains, but they didn't have _that_ much money. The shower was marvellous nonetheless, though the open design did lead to Ichigo developing a habit of sneaking in when his husband thought he was still sleeping.

Ichigo settled down in the tub, bending and parting his legs to accommodate his partner, and sighed heavily, tensions soothed by the hot water. He laid back, the rising steam cradling his head like a pillow, and said glumly, "I can't wait for today to be over."

Tōshirō hummed in agreement. One of Ichigo's large, wet hands tousled his hair lovingly, fingers trailing through the short, choppy locks, thumb gently massaging his skin. When the caress slipped down to trace his neck and shoulders, the Captain-Commander couldn't help but stiffen. It was a minor movement under Ichigo's care but it was scrutinised nevertheless, and the touch of fingertips became lighter, as if apologising for causing the scars that marred his skin. Tōshirō tried to relax, feeling ashamed for still reacting in such a way, and behind him Ichigo inhaled.

"Does that hurt?"

Shaking his head, Tōshirō assured him that it didn't.

They had this exchange every time Ichigo examined the burns on his back. They were as healed as they possibly could be now, a distinct, raw colour difference against Tōshirō's pale body, but they still itched and ached from time to time. Tōshirō knew he had little reason to complain – Isane had done a tremendous job at saving his life and restoring his body as best she could – but the scars were a relentless weight on his conscious. He wasn't humiliated by them (he had been tortured for days and almost died a noble death in getting them, safe with the knowledge that he'd revealed no information), but he was definitely disgusted. Ichigo's tender exploration of his wounds were to assure him that he didn't need to be – Tōshirō knew that – but when he thought about them all he could imagine was the sickening black and red and yellow mess he'd been – swollen and horrid like something out of a nightmare. He had been absolutely ghastly to look at for about a year, and that wasn't including the initial treatment period.

His recovery had been agonising, but Tōshirō firmly believed that he'd looked worse than he felt – the third degree burns had completely destroyed his nerve cells so he'd hardly experienced any pain at first. (It had been the second degree burns that had hurt). Since it was his back that was burned he hadn't been able to fully comprehend the damage until he'd researched burn recovery in the Fourth Division's library. In retrospect the action had been unequivocally _senseless_; Ichigo probably would have shouted himself raw if he hadn't found Tōshirō throwing up in the nearest bathroom and started to cry instead.

"I love your hair you know," the ginger went on, combing back the damp strands of the snowy mane. Tōshirō had been growing it out once – he'd been able to tie it back into a ponytail before the majority of it had been scorched off. Now it had lost both its volume and its gravity-defying spikes, and instead stuck out in every direction in a feeble attempt of returning to what it had been before. Tōshirō didn't really mind the length, but achieving long hair in Soul Society took time and he was saddened to have to start the process again.

"If you're going to keep playing with it you might as well wash it."

Ichigo chuckled and reached around for the shampoo, dolloping some into his hands and then continuing his ministrations. "So demanding."

Finding that he had nothing to say in reply to that, Tōshirō let himself sink back and submerge deeper into the cocoon around him. One of Ichigo's thighs jerked at the supple movement, causing teal eyes to shine as they slipped shut. "If you're feeling up to it, I owe you for earlier."

The steady body behind him jolted with a snort. "You don't owe me anything," hushed his other half, tapping him abruptly on the temple. "But I wouldn't say no to lazy-bed-sex."

"Sounds wonderful," Tōshirō purred. "Perhaps we should've saved the bath till later."

Ichigo laughed again, retracing the burn scars on his spouse's shoulders as he gradually guided Tōshirō up against his chest. There was no responding stillness this time, the Captain-Commander too lost in the waves of comfort to notice, and the ginger smiled. "Lazy-morning-bed-sex then," he amended. "Even better."

Tōshirō smiled too. While he enjoyed love that arose on the sofa and lured them upstairs, Ichigo's blissful ideal was of drowsy daybreak kisses and the ochre glow of the sunrise. In either case sex was as delightful as it had been during their first time (though notable not as awkward or embarrassing, but just as humorous and careful), and Tōshirō found himself blushing. He wiped a glistening, wet hand over his face, determined that it was just the steam warming his cheeks.

"Let's not be late to work this time?" he commented. He did not need a repeat of his division sending him smirks and knowing looks when he arrived two hours later than usual.

"You're the _Captain-Commander_," Ichigo teased, stressing the title. "Work waits for you."

Snorting, Tōshirō flicked his husband on the knee. "It most certainly _does not_."

Ichigo responded by reaching around and rubbing a bubble-filled palm against Tōshirō's face, smothering his disgruntled cry with the sharp, soapy aroma of the mint shampoo. This resulted in a bubble fight that Ichigo lost spectacularly, but given that his opponent was the master of all things water, he liked to think he had been decent competition.

They soaked until the water was too cold to ignore. Tempted to refill the bath and never move again, Tōshirō grudgingly stepped out and wrapped himself up in a towel. A brief moment of passion interrupted their getting ready for bed, but between the kissing and touching neither could say they minded. It was virtually a typical evening between them until Ichigo caught his reflection in the mirror and groaned, raising a hand to prod the shadows and stress on his face.

"Fuck this," he said. "Don't think I'll be getting much sleep tonight."

"Do you have any paperwork to do?" Tōshirō asked, aware that it was pointless to even suggest that he try to sleep. He would encourage it non-verbally as they enveloped each other in bed, but sleep wasn't the peaceful relief it had once been. He wouldn't insist that Ichigo slumber if it would do more harm than good.

"Nothing urgent enough that I brought it with me," said Ichigo, padding across the room to join Tōshirō under the duvet. "It's alright, I can just get a book or something."

They curled up together, facing each other. Ichigo twisted around and switched off the light when Tōshirō made no move too, and then kissed his husband blindly in the dark. "I'll be fine," he said. "Go to sleep, it's been a long day."

The Captain-Commander sighed. It had been a long day for both of them, but while he could feel slumber settling over him, Ichigo sounded wide awake just a breath away. "Isshin's in good hands," soothed Tōshirō. He wondered how well Yuzu's husband was fairing at encouraging her to sleep. "He's too stubborn to…"

_Die_.

There was no reply for some time. Tōshirō was drifting just above his dreams when Ichigo finally spoke up; it was a soft mumble, considerate of or perhaps encouraged by the sleepy captain, and as such Tōshirō barely heard it against his pillow.

"Thanks sweetheart."

He was asleep before he could reprimand that comment.

* * *

Tōshirō's dreams were often plagued with a steady beat of some form. It was usually associated with the battlefield, the setting in which his nightmares began, whether it be the rushing of his blood in excitement, the adrenaline of the fight twisting his body and pounding his feet against the dirt and sky in a relentless dance, or the constant screaming of his friends, family, and fallen comrades around him, their heartbeats blubbering and gushing to drown them. Sometimes the beat was the backing of his favourite song, or the one Ichigo was dared to dance to at their wedding. Occasionally it was a rhythm of a different kind, intimate and exclusively his to enjoy. While that tune played less frequently than the rest, Tōshirō was certain he could count on one hand the number of times he'd heard the other sound currently knocking at his head. It was sharp and hesitant and apparently, as he rolled over to listen, someone rapping at their front door.

Untangling himself from his husband (Ichigo was curled up like an uneasy child, gratefully having fallen asleep), Tōshirō meandered through the dark to the light switch in the hallway. A yawn and a glance at the clock told him it was almost four o'clock in the morning. Perturbed but believing it unnecessary to reach for his zanpakuto, he strolled across the house and cracked open the front door – a dark eyed, frazzled looking lieutenant blinked at him through the gloom.

"Sir!" Nina Sakamoto squeaked in surprise, as if she was entirely ignorant of whose house she was loitering outside of. Since Tōshirō didn't take her to be the type to play knock-down-ginger in the middle of the night, the short captain raised a white eyebrow at her astounded expression, regarding her prudently.

"This is a bit far to sleepwalk, isn't it?" he asked, attempting to lighten the shadows under her eyes. "Are you alright?"

Clearly no, otherwise she wouldn't be standing outside his house two hours before dawn.

"Ah – I was just wondering if captain was available, sir? I know this is incredibly inconvenient of me and I'm really sorry – I don't know what I was thinking to be honest. Maybe I should just go back home, I didn't mean to wake you. Or, I did. I mean. I wasn't trying to disturb your sleep –"

She was blabbering. Like her captain, this was only something she did when out of her depth.

Tōshirō propped the door open with his foot and bid her inside. The lieutenant scuttled in like a puppy, blushing furiously, just as Ichigo appeared in the hallway. The Fifth Division captain visibly startled at seeing her, probably having doubted his detection of her reiatsu, and frowned ominously.

"Nina? What are you doing here? You should be at home – it's not safe at this time of night. Does Zack know you're up?"

The lieutenant puffed her hair at that, the first characteristic action she'd shown since turning up. "I'm not utterly defenceless," she quipped.

Ichigo held his hands up in surrender as Tōshirō led them into the kitchen. "Whoa, I know, I know. You're my lieutenant, of course you're not. But it's still four o'clock and we all live in the middle of a city populated with people trained to kill – I'd be worried about Tōshirō wandering around and he's the strongest man in Soul Society."

Said Captain-Commander rolled his eyes but couldn't find it in him to be patronised. The assertion was too founded for him to argue.

Nina sighed. That was answer enough, Tōshirō thought briefly, though he missed the expression on her face as he turned towards the cupboards. The Fifth Division duo seated themselves at the kitchen table, opposite each other, Ichigo sitting back in his chair and Nina perched awkwardly: Tōshirō wondered if she'd ever stepped foot inside their house before. He couldn't fathom any reasons that might have brought her this way before.

Tired, awkward conversation was exchanged across the table until the Captain-Commander placed two steaming mugs of hot chocolate between them. Ichigo smiled gratefully and took a sip, inviting his lieutenant to do the same. She stared at the drink for a moment, dazed, and just for a second Tōshirō feared she was about to burst into tears.

"Would you prefer something else?" he asked. He probably would have made her tea if he'd been having some, but he was remarkably aware that his presence wasn't desired in the room. Nina had specifically asked for Ichigo after all, and Tōshirō wouldn't fault that. It was a comment to the times that she felt like she could approach her captain out of the office – back when Yamamoto had been in charge the divide between the captain and the rest of the division had been huge, and not just in power. A captain was meant to be idealised, awed, and feared. They weren't people – they were monsters.

It was different now. Tōshirō theorised that it was war that had been the catalyst for change – when the strongest warriors died and mourned with the weakest, it was easier to see that they were all the same.

"We have whipped cream if you want some?" he added.

Ichigo sniggered around his mug. "Tōshirō likes whipped cream," he muttered, more to his lieutenant than his husband. Nina glanced in confusion between the two Kurosakis, nursing her drink carefully; Tōshirō scowled deeply to stop himself from exploding.

"That was _one time_," he argued. "I was drunk."

The ginger cackled. "You were _shit-faced_. I don't know whose bright idea it was to give you a whole bottle of Kyoraku's sake – oh wait! It was _yours_!"

Tōshirō had been a young, adventurous lightweight that night, and he hadn't been in the best of moods. Somehow that had equated to him huddling in the corner of a party that he didn't really want to be at, steadily working through a large bottle of sake and glaring at everyone who tried to take it off him. He'd 'disappeared' part way through the night only to be found performing calculus in the kitchen, a can of whipped cream as his substitute pencil, eraser, and ruler, and a spoon bobbing precariously between his teeth. Nobody had been quite sure what to make of the scene, so they'd just left him to it.

As they bantered Nina's smile gradually grew larger. The shadows under her eyes didn't seem quite as pronounced anymore and she was delightfully sipping her hot chocolate now, some of the tension lulled from her shoulders. The Kurosakis shared a gratified glance when she laughed loudly at their 'argument', and Ichigo smiled as he looped an arm around Tōshirō's waist.

"Go back to bed," he said lightly, encouraging his spouse to lean down for a kiss. "Thanks," he added in a whisper.

"Don't stay up too late," replied Tōshirō, and then, to Nina. "You're welcome to stay in the guest bedroom if you need too."

"You doubt my ability to offer advice?" teased Ichigo.

"Sensible advice, perhaps," the Captain-Commander commented, and the lieutenant snorted. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight sir," said Nina.

"Night Tōsh."

Tōshirō returned to the other side of the house as quietly as he could. He felt no need to eavesdrop into the conversation – he knew, despite his joking, that Ichigo was perfectly capable of handling the majority of situations that were thrown at him. If Ichigo wanted or needed to tell him about whatever transpired between him and his lieutenant then Tōshirō would listen with an open ear, but if Nina wanted to keep things confidential then that was understandable.

Nevertheless, Tōshirō went to bed feeling uneasy. The room was dark and the space next to him atypically empty – it was cold, he realised, tucking his chin under the duvet. The weight of his decisions appeared to settle over him like a tempest, lightning brewing and ready to strike. He exhaled heavily and tried to will those thoughts away until the light of the morning.

In the kitchen, Ichigo chuckled.

Tōshirō dreamt of fire and ice and the beat of his heart that night.

* * *

"_Captain_."

The drone was unmistakable. Tōshirō looked up from his admiration of the Tenth Division's private gardens – daffodils were still his favourite – and tuned back into the midmorning sunshine. Rangiku's eyes were as vivid a blue as the sky, but while hers were clouded with a sharp, troubled amusement, the canvas above them was as clear as it had been the night before. It would be chilly later, no doubt, Tōshirō mused, and he raised an eyebrow at the captain standing beside him. Rangiku still looked as young and radiant as she had six hundred years previously, though there was an edge of motherly mellowness to the way she held herself now. She was not a mother by any means – having a child didn't appeal to her – but she wasn't the flamboyant woman she had been. Rangiku was a 'lady' now, apparently, and he still laughed every time she insisted such.

"The lilies aren't going to spell out the answers to the universe, captain, stop staring at them."

Tōshirō rolled his eyes. "I wish they would," he replied, taking his hands out of his pockets and offering her an arm. "The usual?"

Rangiku huffed and linked their arms together, giggling. "Nah, I'm in the mood for _takoyaki_," she said, pulling him through the garden. "Shuuhei showed me a great place to get some the other day – I don't know what he was looking for at the time though; he doesn't even like octopus."

Tōshirō smiled and let her chat away. Ever since they had both been promoted to their respective positions they had kept up a tradition of meeting up for a weekly lunch. Over the last few hundred years their friendship had solidified into an almost brotherly-sisterly relationship, but Tōshirō's position as her direct superior officer had kept a barrier between them. Now that they were on an equal footing he felt more comfortable in indulging in her whims, whether that was an afternoon at the local _onsen_ or a trip to the human world. Their gatherings were a welcome break to the stressful routine of the Gotei Thirteen and he looked forward to them every week.

The two officers guarding the Tenth Division gates bowed as they past. Rangiku called something back to them and they laughed – Tōshirō allowed himself a smile at the casual exchange as they made their way through the city streets. While it had been he who had picked the Tenth back up onto its feet after Isshin's disappearance, it was definitely Rangiku who had flourished its character. Even as a lieutenant she had been the life of the division. He had been rules and deadlines and don't mess around, while she had been the welcoming face at the door, the laughter in the halls and the best friend who everyone could rely on. She still was despite being the captain – her lieutenant wasn't quite as rigid as Tōshirō had been, but she wasn't afraid to pull on the reins every now and then. There was an easy friendship between the two officers however, so Tōshirō had no doubt that his old division were in good hands.

The North Seireitei market square was buzzing when they arrived. Rangiku lead him through the crowded streets to an almost-forgotten edge of the square, where a tidy miniature stand was grilling a large pan of batter. Tōshirō cringed at the smell of octopus, but his companion bounded over to marvel at the display, her mouth watering.

"Hungry?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

"Starving," she replied, waiting for the chef's attention to focus on her. "I had basic training with the new recruits this morning and they're such work – eh. Why did I sign up for that?"

He empathised. "Well I believe it's my turn to pay so go mad – you could always get two boxes of six."

"Or three," Rangiku mused longingly, and did just that. As they wandered over to the nearest _dango_ stall, Rangiku balancing the three boxes in his arms, Tōshirō secretly hoped she'd be sick enough to regret it later. The beaming smile on her face as she worked her way through the sweet _takoyaki_ suggested that she wouldn't, however.

Once Tōshirō had bought his own lunch they returned to the middle of the market. They weaved in and out, Tōshirō nibbling on his skewer of _dango_ and Rangiku dragging him over to various shops every so often, talking about pointless things and complaining about less pointless thing. It was only when conversation started to run thin that Rangiku brought up Aizen, and the Captain-Commander sighed, knowing that sharing his thoughts was inevitable. She didn't push him to answer though, but the unease on her face encouraged him to speak.

"I still don't know what to do," he said, keeping his voice low so to not disturb the happiness of the people around them. "I spent this morning searching through the old records with Isane and Nanao, but we didn't find a great deal."

They had worked for hours trying to find some hint or clue on how to approach their situation. Isane had looked through patient records for shinigami that had spent time in the Muken, but dismally she'd had to conclude that those sent to Muken weren't ever expected to come out. Not that there had been many in the first place – a man had been imprisoned there some few thousand years ago, his name forgotten or lost, but had supposedly gone mad and died before his sentence was up. Another person, this time an older woman, had apparently been locked away, but beyond the sentencing record from the Central Forty-Six there was no sign of what happened to her. She could still be there, but if she was, Tōshirō didn't want to think about how much of her was left.

While she had been doing that, Tōshirō and Nanao had battled their way through the laws that governed the use of the Central Great Underground Prison. Simply put, it had been chaos. There were loopholes and contradictions galore, and the majority of the time they didn't understand what A was referring to and how it linked to B. C seemed to appear somehow, slotted in randomly, and then two paragraphs later they were on G and neither of them knew where D, E, and F had disappeared to.

Despite being the Captain-Commander law was not Tōshirō's strong-point, and eventually he and the Eighth Division captain had mutually agreed that they would have to scratch the whole system and start afresh. Tōshirō had spent the best part of half an hour trying to get his head around that idea – he had chopped and changed some things in Soul Society before, but never on such an extreme scale. He would have to be precise and delicate with his approach – Nanao seemed to believe that he was capable, yet Tōshirō didn't share her conviction. He'd known that by bringing Aizen back into the Seireitei equation he would be challenging the fundamental beliefs of what made up the Gotei Thirteen, but he'd never imagined he would be rocking the boat to such a large degree.

It scared him to think he had that much power.

"Zack shared some of the lieutenants' views with me as well," Tōshirō went on, thinking back to the conversation he'd had with his lieutenant earlier that day. The man had seemed on edge, and he wondered if that was due to Nina's late-night visit to their house. "Most of them are unsure on what to think – they were not at the heart of Aizen's betrayal and feel that don't have a valid enough opinion to share."

"And what did you say?" Rangiku asked, her expression lifted in anticipation.

Tōshirō lead them around the street corner. Rangiku had to duck under a low-hanging line of multi-coloured fabric that appeared to have fallen from the nearby stand. "I told him to go back and tell them all that any opinion was valid, no matter how exclusive they were. I imagine Lieutenant Fumimoto will spend the next week telling me that watermelon is an abomination just because she can – honestly, Madarame's a bad influence."

Rangiku beamed proudly at him. "He means well."

"I know. He's still an infuriating prick."

"Speaking of infuriating people, how's Isshin?"

An image of his father-in-law collapsed on the Shiba compound floor arose, and Tōshirō flinched at the crude reminder of last night's events. He hadn't actually been to see the man since the night before, but he had been planning to do so later that day. He told Rangiku such, adding sadly that the Kurosaki siblings were in a state, and then recalled that Yuzu was pregnant. The Tenth Division captain squealed at that, but before she could hug him and jump up and down in celebration, a hell butterfly swooped down from over the rooftops. It fluttered towards them, drawing a few curious looks from the shinigami around, and Rangiku's smile slipped off of her face.

Holding out his hand for the delicate creature, Tōshirō mused that perhaps a more efficient form of communication should be implemented. If he was already changing the laws, he might as well change everything.

"_Captain_," urged his lieutenant's gruff voice from the butterfly. "_There's a video call from America for you_."

Tōshirō's heart sank.

"_Captain Kurosaki is currently taking it but – ah, excuse me sir – he didn't look very pleased_."

"I wonder why," Rangiku muttered darkly, frowning at the remains of her _takoyaki_ boxes. The Captain-Commander sighed heavily and thanked his lieutenant, dismissing the butterfly with a wave of his hand.

"Sorry to cut this short," he said, trying to smile. "They're certainly much more prompt than I imagined they would be."

She snorted. "They're grovelling because they want to get back into your good books," she said, rolling her eyes. "Assholes."

Tōshirō coughed pointedly. Rangiku huffed. "Sorry," she added, sounding the complete opposite. "But we don't like them."

'We' referred to every single member of the Seireitei. It was a plausible generalisation, and one that Tōshirō didn't want to dwell on. Their American colleagues consisted of a tremendously talented number of people, but circumstance had led to a rather large and apparently bottomless rift developing between the two cultures. Tōshirō was sure it would be mended for the most part one day, but in his generation at least there would forever be tension during communication.

"Well yes," he replied, knowing that his day couldn't get any worse. "And they know that."

They shared a grim smile and went their separate ways. Tōshirō shunpoed over to the First Division and entered through the balcony door; Zack was waiting for him there, holding a clipboard and pen and frowning much like Rangiku had been. The international conference room was a few corridors over and they walked the length in silence, Tōshirō praying with every step that he wasn't about to hear his husband's raised voice bellowing through the building. Zack obediently followed him and settled at the back of the room, ready to take down any important information that might arise, and Tōshirō strode into the middle of the small room. To his surprise Renji was also standing opposite the gigantic screen, and both he and Ichigo turned towards Tōshirō as the door clicked shut.

'Brace yourself' Ichigo's neutral face said. Mouth twitching, the Captain-Commander straightened his shoulders and stood between the two officers, his husband on his left and Renji on his right. While he hadn't been expecting the Sixth Division captain to be present, Tōshirō knew that he was perfectly entitled to be there. Officially naming a second and third in command had been one of Tōshirō's first moves as the Captain-Commander. In the unlikely event that he was unavailable for whatever reason, Ichigo would automatically be in charge of running Soul Society – no ifs or buts. And if both he and Ichigo were out of reach for a period of time (which he realised in retrospect was probably more likely because they were married), then Renji would take command. Tōshirō knew that his officers would accept this even if it wasn't on paper, but writing it down offered proof to fall back on just in case.

"Captain Baker," Tōshirō greeted (in Japanese because their American equivalent was calling them, and he knew the man he was talking too could understand). "You're up awfully late."

The dark-haired, middle-aged appearing man smiled awkwardly, rubbing the stubble on his square chin. The light in the room he was standing in was blinding, creating the impression of broad daylight instead of the two am night that Tōshirō knew it was, but bare of furnishing but a small table and three chairs. There was a beige carpet under the American's polished boots, though Tōshirō could only see the top half of the correspondent from the angle of the screen.

"Works never ends," Captain Baker replied, his accent thick and obtrusive. "I hope you don't mind if I keep this short?"

"My time is yours," said Tōshirō politely, though he'd really rather it wasn't. "How can I help you?"

They spent the next half an hour discussing Hollows, society, trade, and other shinigami across the world. There was hardly any politics included – in fact, Tōshirō likened the whole conversation to teenage gossip about the latest trends, and fought to hide his disinterested scowl. Renji managed to sneak away about twenty minutes in, having realised it wasn't a diplomatic talk and thus he wasn't required, but Ichigo remained attentively at Tōshirō's side. They both knew that such discussions were utterly necessary and so debated whole-heartedly with Captain Baker until the actual point of the call arose.

"We can send over a representative tomorrow if that suits you?" asked the young American captain hopefully.

This time Tōshirō didn't hide his grimace. Having a foreign officer running around the city was the last thing he needed when his captains and lieutenants were in such a precarious position with him. Plus, if the American officer caught word of Tōshirō's considerations about Aizen then it would be reported back immediately, and Tōshirō wasn't sure how it would be viewed. Knowledge about Aizen was limited to only Japan, but a little bit of digging around would unearth a whole heap of questions that he wasn't up for answering. Not yet anyway. The Eight Soul Societies (that is, Japan, America, Canada, Europe, the rest of Asia, Africa, Australia/New Zealand, and the Artic/Antarctica) were generally separate and only concerned themselves with their own business, but Tōshirō didn't need another tense atmosphere between Japan and one of their allies.

(Of course, it hadn't exactly been their fault last time, and Byakuya had done brilliantly at preventing an all-out war. He hadn't been able to predict or prevent the events that had led up to the brink of disaster however, and the scars still clearly ran deep throughout the shinigami).

The two Kurosakis shared a glance. "Tomorrow is not a good time," Tōshirō admitted, carefully stepping around the subject. "Could I call you back when it is more appropriate for us?"

Captain Baker blinked. "That's fine. Is there… anything we can help you with?"

Tōshirō's chest tightened, his heart skipped a beat, and his mind screamed 'no!' Ichigo shifted his weight beside him, equally unnerved. Their sweaty hands brushed together. Aloud the Captain-Commander stated, "Thank you for your offer, but there is no reason to be concerned." He almost elaborated, but he realised the less he said the harder it was for him to slip up.

The captain smiled. "Alright-y then. Thanks for your time Captain-Commander Kurosaki, Captain Kurosaki. We hope to hear from you soon."

Returning the farewells, Tōshirō exhaled loudly when the call disconnected. He slumped his shoulders and let his posture relax. His centre of gravity shifted as he adjusted his weight to his left foot (a bad habit), and beside him Ichigo blew out a tight breath. Tōshirō felt the burn scars on his back tingle, but though he willed himself not to twitch in agitation, his husband's hand still came to a rest between his shoulder blades.

The click of the door followed Zack's discrete exit.

"Well," Ichigo began happily, trying to be positive. "That's good news isn't it?"

Captain Baker and his colleagues were clearly trying their best to mend the damage they had caused to Tōshirō and his officers. The idea of accommodating an American officer for a couple of weeks was one that had been announced a few months back, so for it to finally be put into practice was a large step in the right direction. So it _was_ good news. It really was. With the decade old memories of his last close-encounter with an American shinigami at the forefront of his mind however, Tōshirō just couldn't bring himself to smile.

"It means I must make a decision about Aizen soon," he replied, sighing softly. "I do not think postponing it while we are entertaining the representative will be a good idea, but telling America to wait for too long will only cause suspicions."

Ichigo hummed unhappily. "What _are_ you going to do about Aizen?"

Tōshirō shook his head. "I don't know. I need more time."

He didn't have more time. He didn't have more time because he was an idiot who thought bringing the topic up to his captains would be a good idea. He didn't have more time because he had completely underestimated America's desire to strengthen their treaty, and now they wanted action but by doing so he would be telling the whole world that he couldn't handle his own problems. He didn't have more time because he had only been thinking about Aizen and nothing else – not his men who were treading circles around him, not America who would soon start asking questions, not his family who would have helped if he'd just told them, and not his husband who he'd kept in the dark when he should have been telling him everything, because that's what made their relationship so strong but he had cast that aside because he thought he could deal with it all by himself. He didn't have more time and he was to blame but it would be all of his captains, lieutenants, and officers who paid the price.

Since he was too much of a coward to say this aloud, Tōshirō opted for saying something else. "How's your father?"

When there was no immediate reply to the question, Tōshirō glanced up at his spouse. Faintly frowning, Ichigo was considering him with a frigid expression. Hoping his internal outburst wasn't transparent on his face, the Captain-Commander waited silently, wondering how his expression would be interpreted from the higher point of view. Did his short(er) stature convey vulnerability? Did his pale skin and silver hair make him seem frail? Did he look young to his husband, or hunched over and withered from age?

Ichigo ran his fingers along Tōshirō's skin, resting the pad of his thumb on his jaw. Eyes a rich chocolate and smile the sweet strawberry filling, the bright-haired captain started to laugh softly, pleased by something that Tōshirō could not comprehend.

"He woke up earlier and asked me to bake him a 'get well soon' cake, and I told him to fuck off because I'm not his _dinner lady_. He whined at my lack of compassion so I left him to Karin. If he's still in one piece he'll probably get me back for that later. He did look tired though, but I don't think he was in any pain."

Tōshirō could picture the scene. Melancholy he smiled, glad that Isshin had been up and about enough to sound almost normal, and said, "I should go and visit him."

Ichigo shrugged, placing no blame. "He knows you're busy, so don't stress about it. But we can go now if you want? He'll appreciate it."

The idea appealed to him, so the Captain-Commander nodded. He tried to reflect his husband's pleased expression but he couldn't help but feel going to the Fourth was just a retreat, and, with the pressure of a society on his shoulders, that he was running away. Ichigo didn't seem to think so, however, and neither did Zack when they confronted him a few minutes later to let him know where they were going. That lifted Tōshirō's guilt somewhat, yet he still felt the need to lock himself away in his office (again) and pace for half a week (again). The hand clasping his own and leading him through the corridors informed him that doing that wasn't a viable option this time.

Tōshirō didn't think that was necessarily a good thing.

* * *

When they arrived at the Fourth Division Isshin wasn't awake and making lots of noise, nor was he sleeping peacefully where Ichigo had left him.

"What do you mean you've _induced a coma_?"

Isane stared at him flatly, clearly resisting the urge to smack the Fifth Division captain on the head with her clipboard. Tōshirō almost quirked a smile at her rigidity – years of being a captain had strengthened her character immensely; she didn't put up with nonsense anymore.

"Please lower your voice," she said swiftly. Ichigo huffed and crossed his arms, anxiety vibrating through his tense posture. "We identified the formation of an arterial thrombus earlier. Where it is creates the risk of a thrombotic stroke so for now we've put Kurosaki-san in a coma so that we can monitor him and decide what to do. Since he experienced a myocardial infarction he's at a higher risk than usual of thrombosis, but we've managed to notice it before it could cause any serious damage to his brain tissue."

Tōshirō glanced up at his spouse. Ichigo looked livid. "When did this occur? Do Karin and Yuzu know? _Why didn't you tell me_?"

This time Isane fluttered slightly. "We've only just put him under," she explained, handing him the clipboard. "Here. I was just on my way to update my report and send somebody to inform you."

Some of Ichigo's ferocity drained away as he began to flick through the paper. Tōshirō leaned over to have a look and Ichigo obediently lowered the clipboard so they could both read it.

"Can we still go and see him?" Tōshirō asked.

Isane nodded. "Of course. We've moved him into a different room but I can take you there now if you wish?"

She led them deeper into the division, past Isshin's old room and into the intensive care section. Since Ichigo seemed to be functioning in a state of shock Tōshirō thanked her and carefully pried the clipboard from his spouse, returning it to the healer. They conversed briefly and Isane promised she would notify the rest of the family right away; across the room Ichigo tripped over his feet into a chair, his zanpakuto knocking the bed where Isshin was motionless, an oxygen mask cupping his nose and mouth. Tōshirō nibbled his lip and went over, gently detaching both of their zanpakutos and settling them down out of the way. Isshin's Engetsu was already propped in the corner.

"This is not my day," wailed Ichigo.

_It's not mine either_, Tōshirō thought bitterly. He should never have woken up this week.

"Dad you're a fucking idiot," Ichigo went on, as if Isshin could hear him. "An absolute _dick_ and I hate you for doing this."

They both winced; Tōshirō could feel his partner's shoulder blades jerking under his hands. Ichigo deflated in the chair, his features blanching, and grumbled something Tōshirō didn't catch. It was probably 'sorry' or 'don't die,' and either way he was glad he hadn't heard. He leaned down and kissed Ichigo's neck. He mumbled "Do you want a coffee?" because he was certain they were probably going to be spending the rest of the day camped out next to Isshin, hoping for improvement.

"Please," said Ichigo. "Pile it with sugar – if I get diabetes we're in the right place."

"Not sure it works like that," Tōshirō muttered shrewdly, and while the topic was grim and he hadn't really meant it as a joke, Ichigo smiled.

"If you can carry it back, make a coffee for Karin too. I doubt Shuuhei will care if she ditches her duties."

Nodding an affirmative, Tōshirō went and tracked down the patients' kitchen. When he returned with a tray full of drinks, as expected the dark haired Kurosaki had made a nest beside her brother. The siblings were talking quietly but they both looked up when Tōshirō walked in. The flash of disappointment in their eyes voiced that they were hoping for Isane, and his heart thudded in a surge of guilt. He handed them both their coffees and went and pulled up a chair for himself. There he curled up around his tea – white, it was all they had – and tried not to interrupt the conversation.

Isshin was still and soundless. There were multiple machines monitoring various processes in his body, and other than the discreet movement of the shinigami's chest they were the only sign of life. Dark hair splayed out against the pillow and wrinkles smoothed in his comatose state, Isshin looked ten years younger. There were no signs of pain or distress or old age, and Tōshirō contemplated if Aizen would look the same after his time in Muken.

He realised then that that was a silly thought. How could he compare Isshin's last six hundred years to Aizen's, when one lived and breathed in Seireitei and the other just breathed in the deepest dungeon Soul Society had to offer? Would Aizen be marred by signs of insanity or look just as he had during the Winter War – like a genius, a lonely, desperate one? Could a lonely, desperate genius be likened to the insane? What was a genius if not a little crazed with the weight of their thoughts?

Was _he_ going mad? Isshin was lying in the bed before him and all he could think about was Aizen. It made Tōshirō feel sick to know that his mind was enthralled on a criminal locked away in Muken while his father-in-law was comatose and dying.

But… he needed to do something. About Aizen. About the situation he had thrown the Gotei Thirteen into. He didn't know what, and he hoped he would soon. He needed his officers to stand behind him and support him, but what if he made a terrible decision? It was clear he had already made a few. How could he change society for the better if nobody wanted him to?

How could he do what he thought was right when everybody else thought otherwise?

* * *

**End Notes**: Please leave a review if you feel like it. TSOF will be updated at some point, but my muse for this has taken over and I'm having fun so I haven't written much of the chapter yet.


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